


all i want for christmas is you

by unbridgeabledistances



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: BIG christmas fluff, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, and wants him to have nice things, mickey loves his husband
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28144005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbridgeabledistances/pseuds/unbridgeabledistances
Summary: It looked like any other South Side house, with its roof caving in and barely hanging on by the seams—like a place he or Ian could have grown up, with a yard full of junk and kids running around while their parents sat drunkenly on the front stoop. It felt like a home— and Mickey knew that was what Ian wanted. A place for the two of them, that felt like that.-Or, Mickey surprises Ian for Christmas.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 7
Kudos: 176





	all i want for christmas is you

**Author's Note:**

> felt like writing christmas gallavich! this is not my best but it is 11:30 pm and i wanted this to exist lol  
> (set in season 11)

Mickey looked down at his phone, turning it on to check the time and then quickly shutting it off again. 5:02 pm. _Fucking unbelievable_. He’d been waiting twenty fucking minutes on this corner, but still couldn’t see anyone walking towards his side of the street. Mickey crossed his arms. Typical, him trying to do shit right and people still waste his fucking time.

A couple minutes later, a small gray car rolled up and parked alongside the curb, and an older man in a suit sidled out, holding a clipboard. “Sorry, so sorry that I’m late! You must be… Mikhalo?”

Mickey cleared his throat and slowly took the man’s outstretched hand.

“Yeah. Uh, I mean—it’s Mickey.”

The man smiled. “Mickey, then. Well, Mickey, I’ll be honest, I was surprised when you gave the agency a call about this location—we haven’t had anyone interested in this area of the South Side for quite some time. All the streets a few blocks up are being jazzed up a bit, it’s really charming stuff—but this block’s been pretty overlooked for a while. It definitely has some character.”

Mickey fought back the urge to roll his eyes. Yeah, _character_. If that’s what you call shootings most nights of the week and people stopping to piss on your front stoop, then this neighborhood definitely had lots of character. Unfortunately for Mickey, it was pretty much the only place in his price range—not that he _had_ a price range, since he wasn’t exactly planning on legally getting the money for the down payment for this place—but he owed it to Ian to not piss away his wages from slaving away in that godforsaken warehouse, and any place more expensive than this would be a little more difficult to swing on stolen funds. Plus, he wasn’t sure they’d rent anywhere else in the city to a Milkovich—a shithole South Side apartment was pretty much his only option.

Which didn’t make him too upset, if he was being totally honest with himself; there was something slightly comforting about the house that Mickey had noticed in the grainy photos on the realtor’s website, something charming about the paint stripping away from the window shutters that someone had made the unfortunate choice to paint powder blue, the horribly stained bricks that made up the front of the house, the knotted brambles in the front yard. It looked like any other South Side house, with its roof caving in and barely hanging on by the seams—like a place he or Ian could have grown up, with a yard full of junk and kids running around while their parents sat drunkenly on the front stoop. It felt like a _home—_ and he knew that was what Ian wanted. A place for the two of them, that felt like that.

The realtor kept prattling off the amenities of the place: utilities included, electric appliances, and all sorts of bullshit that went over Mickey’s head. But all he could think about was signing the contract, getting the key, and bringing Ian home. Proving that he wasn’t as much of a fuck-up as everyone thought he was, because none of that mattered if he could at least give Ian this.

Mickey had never been good at Christmas; there were too many painful memories of Terry ripping open the presents before he or his brothers had the chance, too many painful stings associated with Terry having one too many drinks because it was a “holiday.” Mickey didn’t really think he knew _how_ to celebrate Christmas, to give gifts or any of that shit; but he did always know what people wanted, like on Franny’s birthday when he knew that she needed was some plastic AKs and to drop that fucking sparkly tiara on the ground. When he loved someone, he paid attention—and he knew that Ian wanted them to have their own place, as much as Mickey was fine to stay in the bustling Gallagher house til whenever Ian didn’t want to anymore.

“Mr. Milkovich, are you ready to sign the lease?”

Mickey glanced at the house again.

“Yeah. I’m in.”

**

“Mickey, where the fuck are we going?”

“Just put on your fucking coat and follow me, Gallagher.”

Ian rolled his eyes, but leaned against the couch and finished pulling on his shoes.

“Why can’t you just tell me this mysterious destination you need me to go to, right now, on Christmas? Debbie and Tami are going to be pissed if we just leave and don’t come back for no reason.”

Mickey just zipped up his jacket, slightly tuning in to the chaos of Sandy, Franny and Debbie frosting Christmas cookies in the kitchen.

“It’ll just take a sec, we’ll be back before Lip and Tami even get here.”

Ian huffed. “Alright, whatever you say, boss.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and opened the door. The streets were full of slushy, gritty Chicago snow piled high on the roadside. Ian shivered when he stepped outside the door.

“Alright, Mr. Mysterious. Lead the way, I guess.”

Mickey grinned. “It isn’t far.”

Ian smirked back. “Never thought marrying you would make you go all soft and mushy on me at Christmas time, Mick.”

Mickey punched his arm lightly. “Fuck you, and shut up. Just enjoy the goddamn magic of Christmas and follow me, Mr. Milkovich.”

They set off on the icy sidewalks, walking down the three blocks hand in hand. The streets were eerie and quiet, aside from the occasional snowplow roaring by- the typical South Side chaos was subdued, with everyone sitting inside and pretending to be a big happy family for one night a year.

Mickey tugged at Ian’s hand, and led him down another street corner. “C’mon, slowpoke.”

Ian raised his eyebrow incredulously. “You’re taking me to walk in a random, shittier part of the neighborhood in twenty degree weather?”

“Why don’t you stop asking questions and just follow me?”

Halfway down the street corner, Mickey stopped in front of the house. Ian kept looking at him in confusion.

“You took me to.... a house?”

“Yes, smartass. I took you to a house. Now why don’t you check your fucking jacket pocket?”

Ian frowned in confusion and put his hand in his pocket. Took out the small, silver object.

“And it’s… a key?”

“Jesus Gallagher, for someone who used to talk my fucking ear off about geometry theorems you aren’t too sharp tonight.”

Ian blinked slowly. “Mickey… You got me a fucking house? For Christmas?”

“Wrong. I got _us_ a house. And it also just happens to be Christmas.”

Ian was silent for a moment, then laughed in disbelief. “Mickey, where the fuck did you get the money for this?”

Mickey smirked. “Savings.” Ian rolled his eyes. “Gallagher, I owe it to you. Consider this a replenishment of the wedding cash. Listen, I’ve got my shit straight, I signed the lease. Plus they don’t ask much for a down payment in a shitty fucking neighborhood like this one.”

Ian laughed, still in shock, and ran his hand through his hair. “Goddamn it, Mickey.”

Mickey grabbed his wrist, softening. “Hey. I know we said… honesty or whatever, and I kept this shit from you, so we can rip the lease to shreds for all I fucking care. But I guess- I just wanted to show you that I know this shit is important. To you.”

“Mickey. Are you serious? We have our own place! Our own fucking place!” Ian looked at the front façade of the house, still reeling with disbelief. “With, like, window shutters and shit! This is beyond what I was thinking about when I talked about moving out.”

Mickey laughed. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

Ian took it all in, then bent forward and kissed the top of Mickey’s head.

“Shit, Mickey. I love you. You’re absolutely crazy and I love you.”

Mickey leaned against him, wrapped his arm around him.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Milkovich.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed! comments/kudos make my heart happy:)


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